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It was nights like this when I’d write. Bloodshot eyes, whiskey on my breath, and a joint in the hand to help me relax. I’m also typing this with my right hand. A few mistakes but well worth the few puffs I get in before the fire dies out. It’s 3:51 in the mornin’. I miss him like the heavens miss a fallen angel. You feel bad for it up until a certain point. The cats are fed and the dog is filled with poo. Can’t sleep, what am I to do? I made a mistake and prepared for the best, but in my own interest. This joint is working its voodoo. I’m tired now. Goodnight. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
Daily I’m finding ways to challenge myself for more. When I start feeling comfortable with the way things are going I feel the need to create chaos. Why does life always feel like a race? Constantly we strive for perfection because the world says perfection is happiness. You need a good paying job to make more money so you can live in a huge mansion and drive a luxury car. That’s what life is about and that’s what’s going to make us happy. Right? We are flawed beings and that’s what makes us human. This never ending race for the “superficial happy life” is wearing me out. As I become more self-aware and honest with myself I am noticing that this concept of time is a limiting belief. We get so caught up in the future and what we want in the long run that we miss the present. I’m learning to live in the now and enjoy each day. Growing up in a very religious household played a big part on my journey to greatness. As a Christian I was taught that how we lived on earth determined whether we go to heaven or hell when we die. Knowing that my eternal fate depended upon the way I lived, I kept my focus on doing everything right so I would go to heaven. I was living my life in fear and not really living because I needed to be this perfect Christian. Now I know that isn’t the case. God wants us to live in the present and focus on today. He isn’t this disciplinarian who only sees black and white. How I live my life now will shape my future. This struggle for greatness is nothing more than an illusion that distracts us from the present. We need to get comfortable with being comfortable. I hope this message leaves you well and that you all get what you want out of life.
What are you scared of? Address one of your worst fears. If you’re up for a twist, write this post in a style that’s different from your own.
When it comes to fears, I can proudly say I don’t have many. However one fear that I do have is drowning. I learned how to swim a bit when I was younger but I never really honed in on it. I know the basic mechanics and when to come up for air, I just can’t get my mind in sync with my body. Instead of focusing on my breathing I focus on not drowning and because of this I have this phobia of deep water. Last summer I did practice and definitely improved but I still have my work cut out for me. Growing up I never knew why I was afraid of water but then again black girls have this thing about getting their hair wet, so who knows. Lame excuse but it’s true. I know one day I will overcome this silly fear and in the meantime I’ll just have to invest in swim caps.
Karla buried her head in her hands and let out a sigh of defeat. Her frustration now flowing gently, from weary eyes, down her sunken cheeks, and onto her lap. She had never been to a broadway show but her life was slowly resembling one. Her breathing, very short and now gasping for air, her heart rapidly beating out of her chest, her anxiety attack was just beginning.
“Hello,” Stacey answered.
“Do you really think I’m a bad friend?” Karla asked trying to hold back her tears.
“No, of course not! I was just frustrated with the whole trip.”
“Well Ava is blaming me for everyone being upset, I’m trying to understand what I did wrong?”
“Nothing I promise I just was mad about the whole trip.”
“Okay I got to go.”
“Wait, let’s talk …”
She hung up the phone and turned it off, she didn’t want anyone to call and make her change her mind.
Slowly she reached for the bottle of Seroquel that sat untouched for months when her doctor took her off of it. Staring at the bottle using her tank top to wipe the tears from her eyes. Squeezing the bottle while slowly turning it as she contemplated her last few moments. Hesitantly she twisted off the cap, shaking out each pill one by one until she had 10 of the 300mg tablets in the palm of her frail hands. A very familiar scene, her first attempt at taking her life consisted of swallowing 10 Advil’s at age 11. She was an amateur then, the sleeping pills were a different ball game. She always imagined her death as being catastrophic, dying from a faulty parachute while sky diving or maybe a plane crash. Dying in your sleep was for when you were older and had done everything, it was more peaceful. The thought of just falling asleep and not waking up was comforting, you would wake up but in a different world or another place. It wasn’t really dying, it was transitioning.
Recovering from yesterday….